The potion maker
by Coins In A Jar
Summary: An exclusive peephole into the head of Severus Snape as he goes through Hogwart and thoughens up for what lays in store in the cruel world. Some coarse language. Maybe SSOC NB: almost certainly abandoned
1. The incident

Disclamer: I do not own anything and wouldn't dare to presume doing so. I'm broke anyway.

Warning: Slow Updater.

Chapter 1 _The incident._

Severus Snape was nothing if unpopular. His impossible-to-wash hair and Dark Arts fascination must have helped, but the fact was that he didn't mingle with his peers. He was the geek, the weirdo, the guy who revises at breaktime; in short, he was a loner. His aloofness meant that few of his classmates ever bothered to get to know him. T'was a pity, he could certainly have taught them a few things. But as it was he had no one to talk with and had to resort to other things to pass the time and dull the loneliness. One of those things was potions. He was known thorough the school as a potion genius and the relief at having found something he was good at guaranteed he made damn sure he was the best at it.

Therefore, what was more natural than streching the boundaries of the class work? The present potion teacher professor Horace Slughorn, slytherin by nature, was extremely surprised one day to find little Snape staying after class to ask him something. After a little fidgeting the quietly brilliant student managed to blurt out his request. Strange how the masterful root cutter and liquid stirrer, always sure of himself as he breezed through the latest enigma confusing his classmates was reluctant to ask something so obviously important to him. Especially to his Head of House, if anyone should be inclined to help him, it would be Slughorn. He frowned slightly during the stammering and continued to do so for a few moments afterwards.

"I mean, it would be... Well, if you don't want to..."

Then his jovial laugh echoed throught the dungeons.

"Of course m'boy! Of course, why should I refuse one of my brightest students? You're not supposed to be down there alone so it'll have to be when I am free to supervise you but as long as you don't blow up the school it should be fine. But what do you intend to make?"

Since Severus didn't remember (he'd been so absorded in dreading the answer he'd forgotten his plans) the potion master set him to do a slightly more complex extra-curricular potion. Sometimes it would be a purposely erroneous set of instructions to be corrected. Or, later on, a potion needed to restock the infirmary. In the course of a few months, the potion master decided that marking essays in the dungeons was decidedly too chilly and that the young prodigy must be skilled enough by now not to overturn his cauldron. After that change Severus began to go down there more and more often. Working after hours in the labs became one of his favourite past-times. He often went there when he was frustrated with other people. After a long day's teasing the precision needed for the increasingly difficult potions helped him clear his mind and detach himself from who he was. For a few hours, he wasn't there. There was a pair of hands executing increasingly complicated instructions and there was a clock and a cauldron and a fire and a set of ingredients and a chopping board and a knife, and a knife...

The accident happened during one of those complicated potions. Since it was a Friday evening, he'd reasoned that he'd have the whole of Saturday to sleep so he might as well try something harder than usual. He choose the_ Chien de Damoclès_ . It was famed as difficult in textbooks since some of the ingredients were sensitive to magic in the vicinity. The Clabbert warts, for example, light themselves when fire spells are used in a radius of a few meters, something they aren't supposed to do until they are diced since you can't "turn them off'" so to speak. When diced, the magic used to make the wart glow is released and it can be caught and added to the potion. However, if they are already glowing when they are being cut the magic will leak into the ambiant air before you can bottle it.

With all this in mind, Snape established numerous precautions and prepared the sensitive ingredients well before he would need them apart for some of the less viable ones which would lose their properties if not freshly cut/burnt/ground. He lit two fires with matches and set some milk to warm.

Two hours later the dog was well under way. It now needed to simmer for a while so Snape decided to take a walk. The way things were going he might need an Invigorating Draught of some sort before the end of the night so a trip to his trunk (which contained a small supply of it) was in order. He wrote down the precise time at which the next ingredient would need to be added and set off in the darkened corridors. A small bell chimed somewhere with a crystalline sound. _10 o'clock. There'll still be some people up. _

As he arrived to the slytherin common room he tried his best to be unconspicuous. He didn't need some random person wondering what on earth he was doing going out an hour after curfew. Snape found his trunk, pulled out two small vials of Invigorating Draught and stuffed them in a pocket under his robes. "Going out again?" The voice made him jump around in alarm. At the door was standing (lounging) Charon, occasional friend and (when he wants something) helper, more often a pain in the ass.

"None of your business.

- If you say so. The fact still is that it's past curfew.

- So?"

Charon examined his nails, "Where would Snape go after curfew? He has no chick or boy to go bang in a classroom." An eyebrown arched elegantly, "Not enough gold for one anyway."

- And? Since when is that a restriction?

- Did you promise them something else?

- Piss off."

A smile, "Bad tactics my friend, you practically agreed.

- Alright, I'm shagging Pomfrey in exange of fresh Pepper-Up potion!

- Wouldn't that be Slughorn?

I frown, "That's just wrong.

- I agree. So who?

- I told you to piss off.

- Since when has that ever stopped me?"

I looked at him and sighed. _When indeed?_

10 minutes later Snape was running back to the potion lab as fast as his spindly legs could carry him. The verbal spar had made him lose precious time and he was late. He arrived huffing and puffing with a minute to spare to cube a pound of rubarb. His hands worked at lighting speed, a pale blur as the pointer moved inexorably. _Faster, faster. _ He managed in 58 seconds and dumped the whole lot in without looking. Snape then slumped onto a nearby chair and took a deep, stabilising breath; his foolishness had nearly wasted some expensive ingredients and Professor Slughorn would not be happy if he melted the lead cauldron. He put a hand up to wipe his brown and felt something sticky. Snape opened his eyes, unbelieving. A thin trickle of blood ran down the side of his thumb. Disappointment flourished. He should be better than _that_. Then panic, he hadn't seen if any went into the cauldron. He dearly hoped not. It would have been interesting to watch with all the basilisc in there. If some had indeed gone in then he might not survive; Snape remembered reading somewhere that the reaction was extremely violent. This remark had been written by the sister of the author, along with an orbituary. _How could he make such a foolish error!_ Finally, dare he say it, it felt good.

After sitting there in a daze for a few minutes he checked the clock. He'd need to get back to work soon. Sighing he passed his wand over the cut and healed it. Only a faint red line remained to show his foolishness, so that the world could see his shame.


	2. The plan

Disclamer:  I do not own anything. Neither am I _presomptuous_ enough to claim so. ; )

Chien de Damoclès-- 

chien dog, traditionnal guardian and alarm against thieves before the invention of the electric one

Damoclès see sword of the same name.

Whatever is _written so_ is Snape's thoughts and the rest is just the story.

Enjoy : )

Chapter 2 : _The plan_

Snape was always careful as he returned from the dungeons after his sessions. He sometimes finished the more complex potions in the early hours and being caught in the corridors when he just wanted to go crash on his faithful bed wasn't his idea of a fun time. To minimise the delay should he meet a teacher he had asked Professor Slughorn to write him a note justifying his late nights. Up to now he'd never had to use it; the teachers weren't insomniacs. _Tonight is different though_, thought Snape as he turned around again. He had the feeling he was being followed, however, apart from a slight scuffle he had no proof of this. _I'm just tired_, he reasoned, _you imagine things more readily when you're exhausted. I read that somewhere. _He turned another corner and came face to face with the still-life of a bowl of fruits. He must have been more tired than he thought because he could have sworn the pear was snoring lightly. _And now I'm lost. Great. _He turned on his heels, wondering where the hell he was and how to retrace his steps since he hadn't paid attention to where he was going.

Snape froze. There was a shadow on the wall, distinctively big for a rat, but perfect for a medium-sized cat. Two bright eyes blinked in the darkness. _Damn. _He ran.

"Whatever bee got in your bonnet?

- Huh?

- You just barged in as if the devil himself was after you.

- Hfouh huh.

- Whatever. Malfoy wants to see you."

An interrogative puff, "How should Iknow. Did you do something you shouldn't have?"

Unknown to him, Charon had struck a nerve. Snape snarled:

"Why don't you just SOD OFF!"

- Messengers have diplomatic immunity you know.

- What if I'm not diplomatic?

- He's waiting."

Septimus Malfoy was the accepted obligarch of the House of Slytherin. Like a spoiled child, he liked to get what he wanted but, unlike a spoiled child, he generally knew how to get it and had the patience to do so. Being in trouble with him was generally considered a bad idea. On the way to his dorm Snape had debated whether he should make a run for it. But where to? Then the door was there and all that was left to do was knock. "Enter", said a silky smooth voice.

The seventh years' dorm was big, well-lit and comfortable. Green hangings draped across the beds except for the one directly opposite him. Around it were standing a skinny boy called Wilkes, Bellatrix Black and her boyfriend, Rodolphus Lestrange, and finally Avery.

They were all hanging around likes dogs around the dinner table, waiting for a chance morsel but wary of kicks. On the bed was sat Malfoy. He was said to be the seventh of his family to have black hair in centuries. Without being illegitimate, or so they said. All these murmurings around him, from his crib to his four-poster bed made it so he was eager to prove he was just as much of a Malfoy as his cousin Lucius and turned him into a miniature tyrant. There had been an incident a few years earlier when a girl had refused to go out with him, telling him that "mudbloods were good enough for him, no need to try for any better". The girl was found raped and Obliviated the next morning. No one could ever prove it was him, but apparently he'd worn a smirk for weeks afterwards. He was now in his sixth year and a lithe meter eighty. What he lacked in weight, he made up in speed, and ferocity.

"Ah Snape. About time. Your little friends have been here for an hour now. Where were you?

"- erm...

"- Never mind. Come closer and listen. "

Snape came to the bed and prepared himself for unpleasant news. _Better to agree to anything, I can always forget it later on. _

_"- _I have had a plan for some time now, and you are the most suited to help me execute it. As you have remarked there are many Mudbloods infesting this school. I must say it is becoming difficult to walk down a corridor without brushing against one. This should not be. This school was created to teach those worthy of it, the children of Merlin ; not some random freaks fresh off the streets.

"- They are becoming more presomptuous by the day! " _Ah Bellatrix, always ready to defend the pureblood ideals._

"- We must do something to show them their proper place! In the dirt where they belong!" _Little Avery, brave enough to throw the second stone at someone's back. Provided they are held of course._

"- Exactly my thoughts, my friends, you are getting ahead of me", smiled Malfoy. "The fact is that I have dwelved on some ideas of mine for a while and that the time has come to put them into effect." His voice suddenly dropped, forcing them to lean closer to him and making the whole thing much more binding, much more _intimate_.

"- I am proposing that we, the pure ones, show the rest of the world their unworthiness, so that it cannot be ignored any longer. Slander, discorte and bullying shall be our allies in this task."

--------------------------------------------------

Lying down in the dark, Snape couldn't sleep. He was actually shocked at what he's heard. He'd always had a general contempt of Muggleborns as second-class citizens but nothing that bad. The naturalness with which the others had talked about it, the cruelty of some of the things they'd planned was… chilling. Malfoy was so eager he'd actually planned to dirty his own hands. Something about going out with one of them and compromising them. The rest of the group was in charge of the slander and daily humiliations. Snape wasn't sure the subtle part of it had entered Avery's head. He couldn't recall either how he'd agreed to recruit a guy from the year below called Rosier but he supposed that it would become clear in due time. At worst he could always ask Charon for a transcript, it would be unusual of him not to snoop on such an important meeting. _It shouldn't be too expensive. I hear he got a good price for some test questions recently. _

----------------------------------------------------

Septimus Ezequiel Malfoy thought his little meeting went rather well. However, not all those 'invited' showed as much zest as he would have liked. The Snape one had become distinctively somber as the meeting drew on. But the Black girl and the little Avery had more than made up for his lack of enthusiasm, suggesting some rather good ideas here and there. They had great potential. He'd asked them privately afterwards to keep an eye on the greasy boy to make sure he didn't bable ; he didn't look like he'd make much effort, let alone keep his mouth shut. It was all he could do to get him to recruit some more people. Septimus debated whether a little 'private talk' with the boy might make him more diligent but by then it was about 3 in the morning and Morpheus claimed him easily from his pleasant thoughts.

He was pleased at having found such willing minions.


End file.
